Embarrassment
by IceAngel 69
Summary: 3 times John embarrassed himself for Sherlock and 1 time Sherlock embarrassed himself for John. Rated M for sexual themes and in later chapters for the smut.
1. first time

This is my first Sherlock fanfic so let me know what you think I'm truly sorry if I messed up Sherlock's character. Enjoy!

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

John rubbed his eyes for the fifth time since waking up less than ten minutes and desperately tried to stay awake. As he sipped at the scolding hot coffee, John tried to think back to exactly when he had become so dependant on caffeine. All his life he'd never had a taste for coffee, much preferring a nice cup of tea. He supposed it began when he'd start sleeping on Sherlock's schedule.

Sure, he got a few extra hours sleep when they didn't have a case but when they didn't have a case, Sherlock became dangerous to himself and others so John tried to make sure Sherlock _always_ had a case. That was all well and good for Sherlock, who could not sleep for days and still have energy to bounce around London but John had fallen back onto caffeine to keep him alert enough not to fall on his own face.

When their friendship progressed into a relationship, John's sleeping time took an even bigger hit. For someone who had been a virgin up until three months ago, Sherlock really liked sex. Well, according to Sherlock it wasn't actually the sex that was his favourite part. (although he promised John he liked that very much too) No, Sherlock liked what came after sex when he was utterly and totally exhausted and his mind was completely vacant.

There was only two things in the world that made Sherlock stop thinking, cocaine and sex. John was willing to do anything he had to in order to keep Sherlock away from cocaine and if that was mind blowing sex with the man he loved, well John would just have to struggle through it.

"John I have a case." Sherlock announced as he whirled past John and into the kitchen.

John blinked and looked up from his cup of coffee. It was barely six in the morning and his brain wasn't fully functioning yet. He never could understand how he could be less alert after nine hours sleep then Sherlock was after three days with no sleep.

"Don't you mean _we_ have a case?"

"If I meant _we_, why would I say _I_? Really John, pay attention."

John closed his eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the rich smell of coffee to calm himself down. It something he'd started doing once he and Sherlock had become a couple. Things were different in a relationship compared to a friendship and John was pretty sure breaking your boyfriend's nose because he pissed you off was considered domestic abuse.

"I need you to buy me a new riding crop." Sherlock continued, nibbling on the piece of toast that was supposed to have been John's breakfast.

"What happened to your old riding crop?" John asked, more focused on the fact that Sherlock was actually eating something for the first time in days.

"Well obliviously I broke it, or wouldn't need a new one would I? Honestly John, what's wrong with you? Even you aren't usually this dense."

"I'm tired." John grunted.

"How could you possibly be tired? You've just slept more in one night then I usually do in a month." Sherlock pointed out, throwing himself on the couch.

"You're well aware of how much I disapprove of your sleeping habits Sherlock, lets not start an argument."

"We only argue because you refuse to believe that I can live quiet happily on three hours sleep every few days." Sherlock pointed out, standing up and brushing the toast crumbs off his dress pants.

"That's because it's biologically impossible!" John snapped back, repeating the same thing he always did when Sherlock's sleeping schedule came up.

"Whatever. I have to go. This triple murder isn't going to solve itself and we both know Scotland Yard isn't going to do it. Bye John." Sherlock dipped down quickly and pecked John on the lips which somewhat alleviated his bad mood.

"Where am I even going to _find_ a riding crop?" John called after him before he could escape to the stairs.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't need _you_ to buy me one now would I? Sherlock yelled back before dashing down the stairs.

John cursed to himself silently and tried to think exactly where he was going to find a shop that sold riding crops in the middle of London. It took him less than a minute to come up with the answer and then he spent another ten trying to think of another way. His coffee was cold buy the time he resigned himself to the truth.

"Bollocks."

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

Standing on the sidewalk, John stared up at the sign declaring to everyone who walked past exactly what kind of shop this was. 'Lovers' was written in large swirly red letters, a heart replacing the 'O'. John was nervous. Not just nervous, he was embarrassed about _being_ nervous. He knew he shouldn't be feeling this way. He was a Doctor, sex and nudity calm with the job. He'd seen hundreds of naked patients over the years and he was far from a virgin.

There was just something about sex shops that made him blush. It was something about the fact there was no way for him to pretend there was any other reason for him to be in one. At least when he bought condoms and lube at the grocery store he could pretend they were an after thought, pretend that the bread and milk were really the only things he planned on using.

"Bollocks." he muttered again under his breath.

_Come on, just go in. The longer I stand out here, the more attention I__'__m going to attract. I__'__m a grown, mature man with a healthy sex life, nothing wrong with that. People go in here everyday, so can I. _

The only difference was, John wasn't planning on buying something new and fun for him and Sherlock to use together. No, he was about to buy a new riding crop so his boyfriend could whack corpses.

"Oh bugger it all." he muttered again before pulling himself upright and walking into the store. His posture was stiff as he fell back into his military stance like he always did in stressful situations.

Inside was mostly like he'd expected. Well, apart from the lighting. John had thought the lighting would be muted, but it was startling bright and the hope of melting in to the shadows was dashed from John's brain. Although he had to admit, as long as he didn't focus on anything particular on the walls or shelves, he could pretend this was just any other normal shop.

"Can I help you?"

John turned quickly to the counter, surprised to see a relatively young girl behind it. According to her name tag she was Laura. In all honesty no, John didn't want her help but he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible so he'd take it.

"I'm looking for a riding crop."

He expected her smile to falter, a look of surprise, any kind of recognition that he'd asked for something just a little bit weird. But all she did was smile wider and move out from behind the counter in a manner that reminded his eerily of Sherlock.

"We have quite a large range of riding crops here as well a full line of bondage equipment. We have rope, ball gags, humblers, blindfolds to name a few. Although if you're into the more hard core stuff we can always have things ordered in." Laura explained as she guided him down to the back of the shop.

"Just the riding crop for today." John mumbled, feeling rather uncomfortable when he spotted the bondage equipment displayed on the back wall.

She wasn't exaggerating, they really did have a large range. John had never really understood the lure of bondage or BDSM. Over the years he'd known a few people who did it and it worked for them, but he'd never seen the point and the thought of hurting Sherlock like that made his stomach twist. _Although a ball gag for Sherlock would certainly come in handy. _

"Any particular colour you had in mind?"

John didn't know if Sherlock had any colour preference for his riding crops and was about to say black when he remember Sherlock had a fondness for the colour blue.

"Uh…blue please."

"Perfect! I like blue myself." Laura admitted, picking a blue one off the rail and heading back to the counter. "Is that all for today?"

"God I hope so."

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

Sherlock was sitting at Lestrade's desk when John arrived at the station. Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson standing around the desk bending over what John guessed to be crime scene photos. John noted with a quiet snort that Sherlock had made himself very comfortable in Lestrade's office, kicking his feet up onto the table. Entering the office with a nod to Lestrade, John waited for Sherlock to notice him. Moments passed and Sherlock didn't even glance up from the photo currently holding his interest.

"I got it." John announced finally, irritated at being ignored.

"Hmmm? Got what?"

"The riding crop you sent me for this morning."

"That was ages ago! Where have you been?"

John felt his teeth grinding and forced himself to stop. The last thing he needed was a trip to the dentist. Sherlock was absolutely infuriating when he became immersed in a puzzle and although John knew he shouldn't take it personally, it always stung a little that Sherlock didn't really notice if he disappeared for a few hours.

"Sherlock, do have any idea where I had to go to find a shop that sells riding crops in the middle of bloody London!"

"There's no need to make a fuss about it." Sherlock muttered, putting the photo down and picking up another one.

"Go to hell Sherlock!" John yelled, tired of being ignored in favour of a photo of a dead body. Since he'd walked into the office Sherlock hadn't even looked up.

Even Sherlock couldn't miss the acid in John's tone and looked up from the photo startled, not sure what he'd done wrong. "What have I done wrong?"

"Do have any idea how embarrassed I was today? How uncomfortable I was?" John pushed, tossing the riding crop onto the desk.

The other were looking quite uncomfortable and had stepped away from the desk to put ample space between them and the couple. John suspected that the only reason they hadn't made a run for the door was because he was blocking the exit.

"What am I supposed to say John?"

"A simple 'Thank you' would be nice!"

"It's blue. Why blue?"

Sherlock sudden change in topic made John stumble in his little hissy fit. "It's….It's your favourite colour."

"I know that. My do _you_ know that?"

John couldn't help but think Sherlock was cute when he was confused, it really didn't happen enough in John's opinion. He felt his anger at Sherlock dissipate, Sherlock really had no idea what he'd done wrong. He didn't ignore John to be hurtful, he did it because he dedicated his whole attention to the Game. It was who he was and John would have to accept it. Sherlock was Sherlock and John loved him, no matter how irritating he could be.

"You're not the only one who pays attention."

"Of course."

John waited for Sherlock to say anything else but realised Sherlock probably wanted to get back to the triple murder mystery.

"I'll head back to the flat. Try to be home for dinner, I'm making your favourite."

John nodded goodbye to Lestrade, who still looked massively uncomfortable and turned to leave.

"John!"

John stopped and turned back to face Sherlock who himself was looking rather out his element.

"What is it Sherlock?"

"Thank you."

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

Well that's the end of my first chapter, second one wont be too far away. Please REVIEW and let me know if it's any good. I'm really nervous about getting Sherlock's character right.


	2. second time

Sorry it took so long but my muse died and everything I tried to write was absolute rubbish. I already have an idea for the next chapter so that one should be out a lot sooner.

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

John couldn't believe he was doing this. If anybody else had asked him to this he would have told them to fuck off, unfortunately it hadn't been just anybody to ask him it had been Sherlock. He and Sherlock had been on this particular case for over two weeks, four murdered male prostitutes picked up from the stretch of street John was currently standing on and every day the killer went free the more unbearable Sherlock became.

When Sherlock had suggested they use him as a lure he'd wanted to say no, he really had but Sherlock made it impossible. Lately John found himself doing a lot of things for Sherlock he didn't want to. So here he was, dressed in a pair of impossibly tight leather pants and a hideous fish net top in one of coldest nights he'd ever experienced.

John had never been so bitterly cold in his life and every moment he stayed standing on the street corner made him more and more sure this was a terrible idea. Somehow Sherlock had managed to steal some equipment from either Mycroft or Lestrade and John had to admit, wearing a ear piece made him feel like he was in a spy movie.

Another powerful shiver wracked through John's body and he silently cursed Sherlock to hell. Over the time he'd known Sherlock he had done some stupid things for him but this really took the prize, standing on a street corner freezing his ass off and waiting to be picked up for sex by a mass murder.

"I don't see why I have to this." John growled, aware Sherlock would be listening to his every word on the other end of the ear piece.

'_You fit the victim type.'_

John rolled his eyes but had to agree with Sherlock. All the victims had been male prostitutes between the ages of thirty and forty, blonde hair and well built.

"Sherlock I've been out here for five hours, I'm losing feeling in my fingers. He's not coming, let's just call it a night.

'_He'll come. It's been longer then usual since his last kill. He'll be getting desperate.'_

"How can you be sure?"

'_He needs to kill like I need cases to solve.'_

"Even if he does, what makes you so sure he'll pick me? There are plenty of other prostitutes who fit his type out here." John asked, looking down the street to where the rest of the hooker were standing.

'_What makes you so sure he won't? You're a very attractive man John. Besides, you've singled yourself out from the others by standing away from the pack, further down the street. That's what he needs, there's no one around to recognise his face.'_

John blushed slightly at Sherlock's compliment, they didn't come often ands was about to reply when a large back SUV appeared around the corner. At fist John thought it was just one of many cars he'd seen that night but it continued past the others and slowed in front of him.

'_That's him.'_

The triumph in Sherlock's voice nearly made John smile and he was filled with pride at Sherlock. No one else could have known when this man was going to turn up and where but Sherlock did. John's stomach was twisting with nerves and his heart was racing wildly.

Standing on a street corner was one thing but actually getting into the car with a serial killer was another thing completely. The car stopped completely in front of him and he was forced to use his military training to keep his breathing steady and push his fear down.

'_You can do this John.' _

Sherlock's deep voice in his ear calmed him down further. He couldn't let Sherlock down, not after agreeing to do this. He plastered on his best smile and as he walked over to the car, the electric window lid down smoothly giving John his first look and the man capable of killing four innocent men.

He was surprised by what he saw. He wasn't what John had expected, he didn't look dangerous he just looked pathetic. Late thirties, limp brown hair, dark rings under his eyes and John noted his clothes were too big like he'd lost a lot of weight suddenly.

The sorry sight of this man made John feel much better about getting into his car. Leaning against the open window, careful to keep the majority of his body away from the car like he'd watched the other prostitutes do all night. This man had to believe he did this for a living.

"What can I do for you big boy?" John purred, cringing on the inside at his words.

The killer fidgeted, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel nervously.

"I'm looking for some company."

"I'm very good company."

"How much?"

'_Good John, you've got him.' _

"Fifty gets you a blow job, hundred gets you sex."

'_You're cutting yourself short John. You're worth much more.'_

The man paused for a moment as though considering John's offer. "Get in."

John smiled, relieved that the killer had taken the bait.

"John?"

He jumped so violently his head hit the window frame.

"Harry?"

John's sister frowned, looking between John and the car.

"What are you doing?"

For the first time in his life, John wished his sister was drunk. If he was really lucky she would go home and forget this ever happened, unfortunately he remembered Harry had been going to AA meetings regularly and had been sober for six months.

'_Get in the car John.' _

"How do you know her?" the man demanded, becoming more and more jittery.

"Old client." John answered quickly.

"Client?" Harry repeated, horror creeping into her voice.

She took another look and what he was wearing and he would swear he actually saw a little light bulb go off.

"No John, tell me you're not!"

"Fuck off bitch! This whore is mine!"

John flinched when he heard the man yell. There was that anger he'd been expecting, the kind of burning anger it took to brutally murder four people.

'_Get in the car John.'_

"Why are you doing this? Whatever is, drugs, debts, I can help. Mum and dad can help!"

'_John!'_

John felt his heart break when he saw Harry was crying and at that moment he felt like the lowest person in the world.

'_If you don't get in that car, another man will die tonight.'_

Sherlock's urgent words gave him the boost he needed to turn away from Harry and get in the car. Harry called out his name one last time before he slammed the door shut and turned away from her. He couldn't bare to face her as they drove away, burning hot shame curling in his stomach. Calming himself down he rested a hand on the killers knee.

"So sorry about that, there's an alley just up ahead. We'll be alone there." John told him, guiding him to the alley where Sherlock was waiting.

The shame continued to twist inside him and he knew exactly what would happen next. He would call Harry and explain what had happened, what he was actually doing on the street corner but it would be too late. As soon as he left Harry would have headed to the nearest bottle shop and crawled inside a bottle of whisky. The longest Harry had ever been sober and it was his fault she'd fallen off the wagon, all because he couldn't say no to Sherlock.

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

John sighed as he shuffled into the bedroom, kicking his socks off and crawling into bed next to Sherlock. Sherlock's pillow was slightly damp as Sherlock hadn't dried his hair properly after his shower and John found himself leaning over a tucking and wet piece of hair behind Sherlock's ear.

As exhausted and miserable as John was, he was happy Sherlock was finally asleep for the first time in two weeks. Wrapping his arms around Sherlock's thin body he snuggled into the comforting heat Sherlock provided.

"You were too late."

Clinging to a small piece of hope John had rung Harry as soon as he'd gotten home but it was too late. She was already completely pissed and had yelled at him before hanging up. He hadn't even had the chance to explain.

"Yeah."

"You did the right thing. Harry's drinking problem is not your responsibility."

John didn't bother answering, he knew Sherlock was right. Harry was a grown woman, capable of making her own choices but he knew, if she hadn't seen him, she'd still be sober and he wouldn't feel so guilty.

"You make a excellent hooker by the way."

"Don't get any ideas, I don't care how far behind on the rent we are." John snorted and kissed the sharp line of Sherlock's collar bone. "I don't how people actually do that for a living. I was so embarrassed standing there all night, getting dirty looks from people."

"You embarrass so easily John."

"Well next time you can be the hooker."

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

Sorry it's a bit shorter then the first one, I'll try to make the next one longer. Please Review!


	3. third time

Here it is, I hope it being slightly longer makes up for the short one before. I'm really excited about writing Sherlock's part in the next chapter so I'll try and get it up quickly. Hope you enjoy it and please review.

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

Watching police swarm all over the apartment made his anger flare. He didn't even like Sherlock touching his stuff, let alone strangers and people he didn't particularly like. You'd thing he'd be used to it by now. Lestrade threw a surprise drug bust every time Sherlock was being uncooperative, which was at least once a month. John didn't believe in fate, not really.

He didn't really believe in luck usually either, however the series of events over the last few days that had led up to two police officers coming out of his old bedroom/place where he went when Sherlock pissed him off, with a bag of cocaine was seriously testing his disbelief in these things.

_**Two days ago…..**_

Grunting uncomfortably he scratched his crotch for what felt like the hundredth time since that morning and cursed when the pain flared up again. A large, red and extremely painful rash covered his genitals and thighs, causing him to scratch like crazy and it was all Sherlock's fault.

"You're overreacting." Sherlock mumbled, drawing John's attention to him.

John had been successfully giving Sherlock the silent treatment for two days. The silent treatment was more for Sherlock's benefit then John's because if he verbalised all the horrible things he'd been think about Sherlock for the last two days, he would end up saying something he couldn't take back.

"Excuse me?" he hissed, hoping Sherlock would take the hint and keep his mouth shut. Of course this was Sherlock so he completely ignored it.

"I said, you're overreacting. It's not that bad."

"Not that bad? My junk is the same colour as a tomato, it hurts to piss, not only can I not have sex but I can't even have wank because it hurts so much! How could this possibly be any worse?" John growled, holding back the majority of his anger. "And it's all you fault!"

"I said I was sorry." Sherlock pointed out.

"Sorry doesn't cut it! How could you ever have thought it was a good idea to put corrosive chemicals in my underwear?"

"It was an experiment!"

"I'm your boyfriend Sherlock, not your own personal lab rat!"

He picked up one of the couch pillows and threw it at Sherlock's head, becoming even angrier when the pillow missed as Sherlock ducked. With a dangerous growl he decided to leave before he started throwing heavier, more painful things at his boyfriend.

John had been lying in bed desperately trying to ignore the burning in his crotch for nearly thirty minutes when Sherlock entered the bedroom quietly. John had his back to the door and refused to roll over and acknowledge Sherlock's presence, instead facing the wall and ignoring the little voice in his head that was telling him he was acting like a child. After a moment he felt the bed dip as Sherlock sat down on the edge and he waited for him to speak. It came after a moment of silence, barely above a whisper.

"I really am sorry John."

John said nothing but felt his anger subside a little. Maybe he had been a little harsh on Sherlock.

"Please don't ignore me. Yell at me, throw things, hit me, just please…..don't ignore me."

The pain in Sherlock's voice made the breath in John throat catch and he rolled over onto his other side to face Sherlock. He was shocked to see Sherlock's eyes wet with unshed tears and it made him feel like the biggest prat in London.

"Why'd you do it Sherlock?" he asked, taking Sherlock's cold, pale hand in his and squeezing.

"I don't know. When I come up with an idea for an experiment it…consumes until it's all I can think about and I have to find the answer. I was so involved in the experiment that I forgot all about you. I know I should have thought about how my experiment would affect you, I know I should have warned you but at the time it didn't even occur to me. Before I met you…I never had to worry about how my experiments affected other people and I just…I forget sometimes." Sherlock explained and John was feeling more and more horrible about his reaction.

"I'm sorry too."

"Why are _you_ sorry?" Sherlock asked with such confusion it made John laugh.

"I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I had every right to be angry but I shouldn't have ignored you. We should have talked about it, not just me throwing a hissy fit." John explained, drying a few of Sherlock's tears with his thumb. It really wasn't natural how pale Sherlock was.

"Do you forgive me?"

"Of course I do. There is nothing you could do that I wouldn't forgive you for."

"Really?"

"Really."

Sherlock paused for a moments as though he was considering something before jumping from the bed and exiting the bedroom so quickly it made John's head spin. He was gone for less than five minutes before entering the bedroom once more with a guilty look on his face and something in his hand.

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock didn't answer and instead placed what was in his hand on the bedside table. John felt his heart sink when he saw the small bag of cocaine. How had he missed one of Sherlock's danger nights? After a minute of tense silence he bought himself the question he dreaded to have answered.

"Did you use any?"

"No. I bought it last night and I planned on using it but you were already so angry with me, I didn't want to add disappointment as well."

John smiled sadly. He was happy that Sherlock had resisted the lure of his old addiction but also sad that Sherlock had sank low enough to buy it in the first place. He knew that was his fault. He'd thought buy ignoring Sherlock he was saving him from the hurt of harsh words but he'd forgotten that the one thing capable of making Sherlock feel unwanted was being ignored.

"Come here."

John captured Sherlock's mouth in a soft kiss, pouring his apology into it and feeling much better when Sherlock returned the kiss.

_**Present day…**_

The tension in the room was unbelievable. No one had actually expected to find anything and now that they had they couldn't take it back. Lestrade look extremely disappointed at Sherlock and as he pulled out his handcuffs, John could see he didn't want to be doing this.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to John." Lestrade sighed, pulling Sherlock's hands behind his back.

"It's not Sherlock's!" he heard the words come out before he could process what he was saying.

"John." Sherlock warned.

"You found it in the upstairs bedroom right?" John continued, asking the officer who had found the drugs.

"Yes. Bedside table on the left hand side."

"That's my bedroom. Sherlock doesn't go in there. The drugs are mine."

"Don't say something you can't take back." Lestrade warned him. "I know that cocaine belongs to Sherlock."

"Knowing something and proving something are two very different things. I'm confessing to owning that cocaine, so unless you can prove otherwise, arrest me." John glared defiantly.

Lestrade paused for a moment before sighing heavily and releasing Sherlock slowly. John spun around to make it easier for Lestrade to handcuff him. His heart was pounding in his chest and the rational part of his brain was screaming at him, calling him an idiot for taking the fall for Sherlock. But this was his fault. If he had gotten rid of the cocaine straight away instead of forgetting about it, they wouldn't be in this mess.

"John Watson, you're under arrest for the possession of a class A drug. you do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention something which you later rely on in court. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney the state will provide one for you . Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand." John replied.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Sherlock was about to say something but silenced him with a small shake of his head. For the first time John had known Sherlock, he took the hint and kept his mouth shut.

"And you Sherlock. You've done a lot of shitty things since I've known you, but this is the worst." Lestrade spat before guiding John out of the room and down the stairs, but not without one last disgusted look back at Sherlock.

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

It was six long hours before John walked back through the door of 221B. Entering the living room he was shocked to see the disaster area that awaited him, by the looks of the room John would guess Sherlock had taken his anger out on the furniture.

"You're an idiot! I know I always say that but I never actually realised how monumentally stupid you are!" Sherlock yelled, appearing suddenly from the kitchen and advancing on John.

"I had to Sherlock!"

"Bullshit! You could go to jail, do you realise that?"

"I won't go to jail. For a first offence I'll get a fine." John replied, trying to calm Sherlock down. He had never heard Sherlock swear before and the anger in Sherlock's eyes scared John a little.

"You don't know that! You could lose your license! What sort of fleeting insanity could have possessed you to take the fall for me?" Sherlock demanded, stopping extremely close to John's face.

"You know why. You've been arrested for possession twice before, this would have been your third. Do you know the maximum sentence for possession of cocaine? Seven years Sherlock! They would have taken you away for seven fucking years!" John growled, meeting Sherlock's stare head on.

Sherlock scoffed but John could see the pain on his face. Sherlock didn't like to be reminded of the past.

"Mycroft would never have let me go to prison, bad for the family image."

"Really? Because I think he would. You know how he feels about the drugs, he'd send you away just to teach you a lesson. Or even worse, send you back to rehab." John knew he was sinking low by bringing up the rehab. From what little he'd been able to get out of Sherlock, rehab was the darkest year of his life and it nearly destroyed him. "I did it to protect you." he continued, whispering into Sherlock ear.

John hand had snuck up and wrapped itself firmly around Sherlock's neck, pulling their faces together. They were so close he could feel Sherlock's breath on his face. Sometimes John was blinded and overcome by Sherlock's brilliance a maybe just a little bit of hero worship, he forget was a living, breathing human but it was moments like this that reminded him.

Twisting his fingers in the small curls at the base of Sherlock's neck, he pulled him into a deep kiss, crushing their lips together. The kiss lasted barely more than a moment before Sherlock pulled away, keeping John at arms length.

"I'm still mad at you." Sherlock protested.

John laughed and grasped the fabric of Sherlock's shirt tightly. "That's ok, angry sex is pretty fantastic."

Sherlock gave him a heated look which John returned before growling and crushing their lips together once more. Backing up he guided John to the couch and pushed him over the arm rest, smirking when John grunted in discomfort.

"Stay right there."

John obeyed, confused as to what Sherlock was planning. His cock was already half hard at the thought of what was going to happen. It had been a while since the last time they'd had sex due to John's rash, arguments and cases, which made John quite desperate.

The way this was going, he would be surprised if Sherlock even made the effort to take his jumper off before fucking him. Sherlock came back quickly, a half empty bottle of lube in one hand. John saw him and lifted himself up with his hands resting on the couch, arching up so his ass stuck up in the air and Sherlock had better access to his jeans.

With a quick flick of his fingers, Sherlock undid the single button and hooked his fingers through the waistband of John's jeans. He scraped his nails roughly over the soft flesh of John's hips before yanking the jeans down with one practised movement. He stepped back to give John room to kick his jeans across the floor.

"Why aren't you wearing underwear?"

It took John a second to realise Sherlock was talking. "After you contaminated all my underwear four days ago, I haven't had time to buy any more." he admitted, feeling a little embarrassed.

Sherlock snorted and drizzled a decent amount of lube onto his fingers. He was still mad at John but he didn't want to hurt him. Steadying himself with one hand resting on the curve of John's ass he circled the puckered entrance slowly before forcing a finger deep inside him. John cursed and arched his back slightly. Sherlock barely gave him time to adjust before pushing in another.

"Fuck Sherlock!"

"I told you, I'm still mad at you." Sherlock reminded him.

John grunted when Sherlock added another one too soon an a small spike of pain went through his ass.

"So this is how you're punishing me?"

"Very astute observation."

John's laugh turned to a curse when Sherlock twisted his fingers.

"Bastard!"

"I'll have you know my parents were married long before they had me." Sherlock teased, rubbing a finger roughly against John's prostate.

"Enough Sherlock! Fuck me already!"

Sherlock said nothing but John felt the fingers leave only to be replaced swiftly with Sherlock's cock. Neither man lasted long. John came first, pushed over the edge by the head of Sherlock's cock ramming into his prostate on every thrust.

His head spun and his back arched, crying out as he soiled the couch beneath him. Sherlock followed quickly, the feel of John's inner wall clamping around him, pushed him over the edge along with John. They fell to the floor in a sweaty heap, John panting heavily against Sherlock's chest.

"I'm not angry anymore." Sherlock announced suddenly, confusion colouring his voice.

"That's because you fucked all the anger out. Much more efficient than fighting." John laughed, rolling over onto his back and throwing an arm lazily over his face.

There was a long silence and John knew Sherlock was thinking so he didn't try to break it, just prepared himself for whatever question Sherlock would ask. He didn't have to wait long.

"Why do you do all these things for me? You never question it, you never say no, you never doubt me. No matter how uncomfortable it makes you, you always do it and you always put my needs above your own. Why?"

"Because that's what you do when you love someone."

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

Hope you liked it. Please review, I've found that the more people who review, the quicker I update. (that's not a threat just simple observation) J


	4. And one time

Here it is, sorry for any mistakes. I reread it but there are probably a few errors, but that's to be expected as I'm writing this a 1:30 in the morning and I'm pretty much in a comatose state right now. Anyway please enjoy and tell me how it turned out.

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

Sherlock stared at the stained fabric of the couch in front of him. He was in one of his 'funks' as John called them and he had been for some time. He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been curled up on the couch, it could be a day or a week. Time seemed to move differently when he was like this.

John had asked him on many occasions where he went when he was in a funk and try as he might, Sherlock just couldn't explain it. Nobody knew what it was like being inside his head, all the noise as idea and curiosities shouted at each other , vying for dominance.

Nobody knew what is was like to see everything about everyone, how exhausting it was when every little insignificant fact about someone smashed into his brain. He could never rest, never relax. That was the reason he hardly slept, not because it was boring but because he was incapable of making his brain stop spinning long enough to actually sleep.

Cocaine helped to quieten the thoughts, to give him much sought after silence but it had become more of a hindrance then a help and he'd been forced to stop. Surprisingly enough sex helped, sex with John especially. But there were times, not as often anymore now that he had John but they still happened where it all became too much.

When the shouting inside his head reached its pinnacle and he just shut down. Sort of like a overheated computer, his brain just shut itself down while retaining enough brain function to keep him breathing. And when his brain had cooled down and all the shouting had stopped, sometimes it took an hour, sometimes days, but eventually it would reboot and Sherlock would be able to function again.

Which was where Sherlock was now. His brain slowly flickering to life piece by piece. It took him a few seconds for him to reach full capacity which is why it took him almost a minute to realise something important was missing. John wasn't there.

John was always there after a funk, watching him to make sure he was alright and making sure he ate something. Looking around the living room and craning his neck to see into the kitchen, Sherlock realised John hadn't been in the apartment for days.

Frowning, Sherlock pushed himself off the couch and made his way through the apartment room by room. The bed was made and a quick glance in John's draws told Sherlock he'd taken some of his clothes with him, the kettle hadn't been boiled in at least two days and the entire apartment had the distinct feeling that something was missing and that something was John.

_Where ever could he have gone? He should be here, why is he not here? Maybe I did something that made him angry and he left?_

He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. The last time he'd spoken to John everything had been fine and even if he had made John angry, he wouldn't just leave. _Would he?_

He entered the kitchen with a numb emptiness inside him, the kind of emptiness he hadn't felt since meeting John. The first thing Sherlock noticed was that someone had thrown out his experiment and cleaned the kitchen, Mrs Hudson if he wasn't mistaken, which he wasn't. John knew better then to touch any of his experiments where as Mrs Hudson was always touching things she shouldn't.

_John will come back. He wouldn't leave me, he promised. _looking around the empty apartment, Sherlock was stunned by how alone he felt. "He promised."

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

Three days passed before Sherlock began to accept the idea that John wasn't coming back. Sherlock hadn't been outside the apartment since John left, nor had be changed his clothes, had a wash, brushed his teeth or eaten anything. It was ridiculas really, he was Sherlock Holmes, the worlds only consulting detective. He had been alone his entire life and he preferred it that way.

Unfortunately living with John had made him forget how to function by himself. He just didn't work properly anymore without John. It was Greg Lestrade who finally checked up on him after twenty-three missed texts and four missed calls.

What Greg saw when he entered the small apartment made him sure Sherlock had been shooting up again. Sherlock was sat on the floor, leaning against the lounge. He didn't even acknowledge Greg's presence, just stared ahead despondently.

"What happened?" Greg asked after a pause. A silent Sherlock made him nervous.

"He left." Sherlock responded, not taking his eyes off the blank television screen.

Greg didn't bother asking who Sherlock meant, there was only one person in the world he cared about enough to be this broken up about.

"What did you do?"

"Why do you assume it was my fault?" Sherlock snarled.

"It usually is."

"You're right, it usually is. It might be my fault, I don't know. Do you know what that's like for me? Not knowing?"

Sherlock heaved himself off the floor and stumbled over his own feet. Sometime his body refused to listen to what he wanted it to do, it was infuriating.

"So you don't know what happened, where he's gone or why he left?" Greg sighed, shaking his head and heading into the kitchen. He was seriously regretting coming here.

The kitchen was a mess. A weeks worth of dirty plates were piled up in the sink, the table was covered in some form of unidentifiable substance and a quick look in the fridge showed it was empty aside from a rotting tomato.

"How long has this fridge been empty?"

"How should I know? Food is John's department." Sherlock muttered, pulling a cigarette out of his dressing gown pocket.

Lighting it quickly he inhaled the smoke with a barely suppressed moan as the nicotine spread through him.

"You're smoking again?"

"Brilliant deduction, how ever do you do it?"

Greg ignored the sneering tone and snatched the cigarette out of Sherlock's fingers, stubbing it out of the kitchen table. He had to find a way to figure where John had gone. Since the day he'd met Sherlock, the man had been an insufferable, irritating and permanent presence in his life.

Greg had once said if they were lucky Sherlock would one day be a good man but what he hadn't known was that it wasn't about luck. John Watson had made Sherlock into a good man and Greg refused to believe John would just walk out on Sherlock with no explanation.

"That was my last one." Sherlock muttered, staring down at the crumpled pile of tobacco.

"You can't imagine how much I don't care. Go have a shower."

"Have I ever given you the impression that I'll do what you tell me to?"

Greg let out a suffering sigh and grabbed Sherlock roughly by the collar of his dressing gown, dragged him down the hallway and shoved hi into the bathroom. Thankfully Sherlock hadn't eaten in nearly week and was currently sleep deprived so he didn't put up much of a fight.

"Get in the fucking shower."

Sherlock straightened himself and put on his best 'go fuck yourself' face. Greg was relieved to see a spark of the old Sherlock coming through, unfortunately it came at the most inconvenient time. He didn't have time for this, he had to get Sherlock cleaned up and find John before everything went to shit.

"I'll undress you myself if I have to."

Rolling his eyes like a petulant child, Sherlock shrugged his dressing gown off and undid the tie of his pants. He knew Lestrade well enough to know it wasn't an empty threat and he wasn't in the mood to argue if he was going to end up naked either way.

When he was sure Sherlock was doing what he was supposed to, Greg left and headed back to the kitchen. Pulling his phone out he pressed speed dial and waited for someone to pick up. He need to find John but he wouldn't be found if he didn't want to be. Normally Greg would turn to Sherlock if he needed to find someone but unfortunately Sherlock was currently drowning in his own misery. Luckily for Greg he knew someone else.

"This had better be important Greg, I'm in the middle of something."

"Mycroft?"

"Who else would it possibly be?"

"I need your help."

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

Greg pulled up to a modest brick house about thirty minutes outside of London. His patience was wearing thin, for the last thirty minutes he had listened to nothing but Sherlock's complaining and comments. Mycroft had made a few calls and in under ten minutes had given Greg the address of John's whereabouts. It had taken twice as long to get Sherlock into a car and all up the last fifty minutes had been the longest in Greg's life.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"John is in that house."

"You think I don't know that? I figured out where John had gone as soon as I realised he had left."

Greg frowned and watched Sherlock through the rear view mirror. For the first time he actually felt as stupid as Sherlock always said he was. Of course Sherlock knew where John was.

"I'm not going in there."

"Why not?"

"John has made his choice. He wants nothing to do with me."

"You don't know that."

"He left! Like everyone always leaves! While I was asleep the only thing I have ever cared about walked out the front door. Just knowing he doesn't want me anymore is destroying me, I can't go into that house and have him reject to my face." Sherlock was whispering by the time he finished and his eyes were shinning with unshed tears. He wouldn't cry, not in front of Lestrade. "I won't go in that house and you can't make me."

…

Greg pratically threw Sherlock into the lounge room after forcing past the rather startled woman who opened the front door. The still functioning part of his mind supplied to Sherlock that she was John's mother. Stumbling slightly and a bit ruffled at the indignity of being dragged around the place like a child's doll, Sherlock straightened himself with as much dignity as he could manage given the circumstances.

"Who are you?" John's mother exclaimed, rushing past them into the lounge room.

There was a hint of fear in her voice and Greg couldn't blame her. Two strangers barging into your house without warning was bound to cause panic. Greg almost regretted just barging into her house and frightening her, it wasn't her fault he was having a bad day.

But he was having a bad day and he really wasn't in the mood to play the charming, gentlemanly, detective. A day off for him was rare and there were many ways he enjoyed spending his free time, non of them involved playing relationship therapist.

"We need to speak to John." he answered quickly before Sherlock could open his mouth and say something insulting. "I'm Greg and I'm sure John's mentioned Sherlock."

Sherlock took the moment of stunned silence to inspect the contents of the room. John's mother was standing to Lestrade's right and the older man standing behind the couch must be John's father, both of John's parents looked stressed and sleep deprived while John's sister was sitting on the couch looking like a text book case of prolonged alcoholism but Sherlock noticed she was in one of her bouts of sobriety.

An uncomfortable itchy feeling at the back of his mind told him he was missing something important. There was something he should be seeing, but the hazy fog of sleep deprivation made the understanding of what he was observing stand just out of reach.

"John's in the kitchen." Harry muttered when it was clear no one else was going to speak up.

Sherlock got the distinct impression that not one member of John's family liked him very much. Although he'd seen Harry from a distance once, this was the first he had met any of them in person but even he could feel the hostility directed at him.

Sherlock couldn't care less if John's family disliked him, in all honesty he wasn't overly fond of any of them. He didn't like the way Harry would call John at two o'clock in the morning, drunk and crying, arrested for public intoxication and begging John to come and bail her out.

He didn't like John's mother, a woman with all the emotional availability of a piece of furniture, a woman who had spent most of her life ignoring her daughter's drinking problem while just plain ignoring her son. And he hated John's borderline abusive father, a man who had never actually raised a hand to any of his family but relied on mental and emotional abuse.

"What's going on out here?"

Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat when John stuck his head out of the kitchen and into the lounge room. He hated himself and his body for reacting in such a way to John's presence, he hated how weak John made him.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?" John asked, a warm smile spreading across his face.

Sherlock's heart begun to ache and confusion swam through him. How could John be happy to see him? That was what that smile meant, right? No, it couldn't be. John had left. Had left him.

"Lestrade kidnapped me." he answered, careful to keep all emotion out of his voice.

John frowned at the icy response and shot a questioning look at Greg. "Why?"

"I had to do something! He's been a right miserable bastard since you left. I've got case files pilling up in my office because he wont answer my texts. Mrs Hudson said he hadn't left the apartment in a week, I thought he'd gone off on one of his drug binges. You two need to sort out what shit you've got going on because I need Sherlock as close to a functioning human being as I can get him!" Greg yelled, letting out all the frustration he'd been pushing down since walking into Baker Street that morning.

"I don't understand. Why haven't you been taking cases, Sherlock?" John's voice was so full of worry and concern something inside Sherlock snapped.

John left, left him all alone with no warning and no explanation. He'd forfeited the right to ask if he was alright the moment he'd packed his bags.

"Are you really going to pretend everything is alright? After what you did?"

"What did I do?" John asked, wide eyed and taken back by the anger in Sherlock's voice.

"You left! I did nothing wrong but you still left! Why? Why would you let me fall in love with you if you were just going to leave?"

John took a hesitant step forward. "Sherlock, I….."

"I'm not finished talking! My whole life I was blissfully ignorant of just how alone I really was, and then you came along and for the first time in my life I wasn't alone. I actually began to believe you when you said you wouldn't leave me. I trusted you! I trusted you with everything that I am. I told you everything! My past, my insecurities, my drug addiction. Everything I had hid from everyone, even Mycroft. I gave you my heart John. When you left you took it with you and I don't know how to get it back."

Sherlock's whispered words were met with utter silence, a fact he was grateful for. "If you don't love me anymore, I can't change that. But I need to know why. Where did I go wrong? Did I not show you enough affection? In what way am I inadequate?"

John moved across the room quickly and pulled Sherlock into a crushing hug. Breathing slowly to stop his tears from escaping, something that became infinitely harder when he felt Sherlock's tears seeping through his shirt. He pulled away and cupped Sherlock's cheek gently. Sherlock's naturally pale skin that John loved so much was sallow and his bright eyes were dull. Rubbing his thumb in soothing circles, John wiped the tears away.

"You are in no way inadequate. You are smart and brilliant and utterly amazing and there is not a day that goes by that I don't wonder what I did to deserve you."

"I wonder that a lot too." Lestrade cut in gravely, earning a snort from John.

"I will spend the rest of my life in love with you. I need you to believe that Sherlock. What I really want to know is why you think I'd just walked out on you?" John asked, pleased to see Sherlock had calmed down.

"I was in one of my 'funks' as you call them and when I came around you were gone. All your clothes were gone, the kettle hadn't been boiled, you'd been gone for days. I didn't believe you'd left at first so sent you text after text, I even rang you a few times but you never replied. So I waited. I waited for days for you to come back but you never did." Sherlock explained, feeling a curious mixture of sadness and hope.

John said he still loved him, maybe everything was just a big mistake?

"Sherlock this week has been the worst week of my life. I have had a permanent migraine since the week which I refer to as my own personal hell began. I have spent the last week in a rehab facility in Hampshire as we staged yet another intervention for Harry. I left you a note explaining all this on the experiment you have going in the kitchen."

Sherlock could almost feel his brain grinding to a halt and he was capable of doing little more then blinking stupidly. Sherlock had never been embarrassed before, had thought himself above it. He felt it now. It coursed through him and he knew the blush would be starkly evident against his pale skin.

Another feeling was quickly taking over however and this one he recognised instantly as it always seemed to occur whenever John was near. Happiness was bubbling inside his chest and making his skin tingle, a most curious sensation.

"You still love me?"

"Of course I still love you, you silly man. After all we've been through together how can you doubt that? I bought you that stupid riding crop, I was a prostitute for you! I now have a record for cocaine possession! If that doesn't say 'I love you,' I don't know what does!"

"I bloody knew that cocaine was yours." Greg muttered.

Over the top of John's head, Sherlock could see the horrified looks on the faces of John's family but he chose to ignore them. Leaning down he did something he thought he's never get to do again five minutes ago, he captured John's lips with his own and pulled their bodies close. He loved the height difference between them.

Loved the way strong, capable, soldier John moulded his body against his perfectly, seeking comfort and security in Sherlock's arms. The kiss sent fire through his body, the intensity of it making him shiver slightly. John moaned against his lips and Sherlock felt strong fingers tangling themselves in his hair as if John was afraid Sherlock would disappear into a wisp of smoke.

"You two know you're not alone right?" Greg asked awkwardly and the kiss became more intimate.

John pulled away from the kiss with a laugh. Their foreheads remained touching, neither ready to come back to reality.

"Wanna go back to the apartment?" John asked, panting softly as he caught his breath.

"You can't go back with him!"

The sneering voice of John's mother pulled them both back to reality.

"What?" John's head was still swimming with the scent of Sherlock to fully comprehend what his mother meant.

"You can't go with him! He's a drug addict and he's pulling you down with him!"

"I _can't_ go with him? I can do whatever the fuck I want, that's one of the perks of being thirty-five years old." John bit back.

He hadn't been joking when he'd called the last week his own personal hell. He hadn't been forced to spend that much time with his family since he has a teenager. He loved his family, he always would. He just didn't like them very much and his mum was grating on his last nerve.

"You've been different lately John." Harry cut in.

"I'm happy! The fact that you can't recognise when I'm happy just shows how little you know about me."

"You need to get your life straight." she continued as though he hadn't spoken.

"I'm sorry, what? I need to get _my_ life straight? Have looked at the shit storm that is your life recently Harry? Your marriage is over, you lost your job because you kept showing up for work drunk, you've been kicked out of your apartment because you can't pay your rent, you're forty years old and you're living with mum and dad in the same room you grew up in, you're one drink away from liver failure and you just got back from the third rehab facility this year. So perhaps you should straighten your own shit out before you start criticising my life!"

John didn't give her time to respond, instead he grabbed Sherlock's hand. "And mum? Sherlock isn't a drug addict anymore, he was strong enough to realise it was killing him and he quit. Whereas your precious Harry is still an alcoholic and judging by the bottle of Jack Daniels stashed under her bed that she bought this morning at the liquor store around the corner twenty minutes after she got back from rehab, that's not going to change anytime soon."

"Are you ready to go home?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh god yes."

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

They barely made it through the front door before John dropped his suitcase and Sherlock pushed him roughly against the wall and claimed his mouth in a possessive kiss. John groaned had allowed Sherlock to lift him off the ground, wrapping his legs around Sherlock's thin waist securely.

He knew Sherlock was stronger then he looked but it still made John slightly nervous to have his entire weight held up by a man who weighed less then him. Sherlock grunted softly and wrapped his arms tightly around John so he wouldn't drop him.

"Hold on."

John obeyed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck. Sherlock carried him to the bedroom as quickly as he could and dropped him into the bed. John made a small noise of shock as he fell without warning but laughed when he bounced slightly. Laying down on his back he pulled his jumper and shirt off in one practised move before fumbling with his belt. Sherlock snorted and shrugged off his own coat and shirt.

"So eager."

John glared at him playfully, toeing off a shoe and kicking it at Sherlock who dodged it expertly and gave John a smug smile. His smile dropped when another shoe came out of nowhere and hit him on the leg. He looked at the offending object in surprise.

"I have more then one shoe dumb ass." John pointed out with a laugh at the disgruntled look on Sherlock's face.

"You of all people know my intelligence is far beyond….."

Sherlock was cut off by John's pants hitting him in the face.

"Shut up and get naked."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but kicked his shoes off, closely followed by his pants and underwear. Pausing for a moment he drunk in the sight of John naked and waiting for him. John's body was perfect, all neatly compacted muscle and glowing skin. Crawling onto the bed he straddled John's waist while resting his hands on John's shoulders. The angle meant their cocks rubbed together against their stomach's, creating delicious friction.

"Oh god!" John panted roughly as the instant pleasure made the muscles in his stomach tense and twitch.

Sherlock dug his fingers into John's shoulder's, knowing he would leave a mark but not caring. He rolled his hips slowly, overwhelmed by the pleasure the simple touch bought him. John wasn't even inside him but he knew they could cum by doing nothing but this. His orgasm was building as he grinded with abandon on top of John and judging by the way John was tensing underneath him, he was close as well.

"Sherlock stop!"

Every nerve in his body screamed at him to continue but the urgency in John's voice cut through the haze of want and desperation. Sigh a grunt he rolled off John and settled beside him, his ball aching at being denied their release.

"What's the problem?"

John continued to pant and was forced to close his eyes for a moment while he gathered his wits.

"No problem, I just didn't want us to cum."

"I thought that was the goal?" Sherlock asked, a little irritated now that he nothing was wrong.

John laughed and rolled off the bed. Walking required much more thinking when you legs felt like jelly. He headed over to the dressing table and opened the top draw, grabbing the bottle of lube. He was glad Sherlock hadn't gotten rid of it.

"Coming _is_ the goal. But I didn't want us to cum all over each other like teenagers. I want to cum inside you."

Opening the bottle with a small pop, John crawled back onto the bed but this time stopped at the bottom of Sherlock's legs.

"Spread 'em." John said, slapping Sherlock's thigh playfully.

Sherlock spread his legs which allowed John to settle in between them comfortably. Spreading a generous amount of lube on his fingers, John rested his free hand on Sherlock's stomach and pushed a single finger in up to the knuckle.

Sherlock's hole clenched around the digit tightly before relaxing enough for John to enter a second finger. Sherlock's breathing hitched and he rocked back against the fingers. John pushed down of Sherlock's stomach to stop him from moving and hurt himself.

"More!"

John obeyed and added another finger. The tight heat surrounding his fingers made his cock twitch, begging for some attention. When he was sure Sherlock was stretched enough that he wouldn't cause any damage, John pulled his fingers out and before Sherlock could finish his whimper, thrust his cock in their place. The pleasure of being inside Sherlock made John's eyes roll back and he snapped his hips forward.

Sherlock grunted and John drove into his forcefully, each thrust moving him a little further up the bed until his head hit the headboard. This was better then anything, better then cocaine, better then cigarettes, even better then a case. John hit his prostate and it sent Sherlock over the edge. He saw stars as he came violently, the pleasure and force of his orgasm hitting him so suddenly his body shock with the force.

John swore as Sherlock tightened impossibly around him, gripping his cock in a deliciously hot vice. He came almost immediately after Sherlock, and Sherlock could feel the cum entering him and coating his insides.

John collapsed on top of Sherlock as his arms gave out and settled with his face resting against Sherlock's chest as he tried to catch his breath. There was a comfortably silence as they both came down from their high.

"There's something I still don't understand." John muttered, shifting up to nuzzle into Sherlock's neck.

"That doesn't surprise me."

"Don't be a twat." John laughed, flicking Sherlock's neck.

"What don't you understand?" Sherlock tried again.

"I left you a note. What happened to it?"

"You left it next to the experiment in the kitchen correct?"

"I sticky-taped it _to_ the bloody experiment!"

"While I was in my 'funk' Mrs Hudson cleaned the kitchen and threw away my experiment, no doubt the note went with it." Sherlock explained, playing with John's hair.

"Tomorrow I'm going to have a talk with Mrs Hudson about touching things that don't belong to her." John growled, thinking about all the trouble that could have been avoided if Sherlock had found the note.

"Sounds like a brilliant idea. John?"

"Hmmmmm?"

"What didn't you answer any of my texts or calls?"

"The facility has a no phone policy. My mobile was turned off, hasn't left my suitcase all week. I figured if you really needed me you'd come and fetch me, or send Lestrade and when you came to my parent's house I already had a taxi on the way. I was going to surprise you."

Sherlock huffed and tightened his grip on John.

"I can't believe I reacted so idiotically. I made a utter fool of myself."

"Don't worry about it. Embarrassing ourselves for each other seems to be what we do."

"That's probably not very healthy."

"I don't think anything about our relationship is particularly healthy. We are scarily co-dependent on each other." John pointed out.

"Does that bother you?"

"Not one bit."

Neither cared that it was barely lunch time, sleep was the only thing they wanted. Sherlock smirked and allowed all the tension of the past week to leave his body. He was hungry but at the moment he was more tired then he had ever been in his life which was saying something so food could wait until tomorrow.

John would cook something lovely and he would be able to sneak a cigarette from the packet he'd stashed in the apartment while John was gone and therefore didn't know about. Breathing steadily he focused on John heartbeat thumping in time with his own.

"And Sherlock?"

"Mmmm?"

"Don't think I didn't taste that cigarette when you kissed me earlier."

_**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**_

Well there it is, the last chapter. I know it's a lot longer then the others but think of it as an apology for making you wait so long for it. Please review and let me know what you think.


End file.
